


Home

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Introspection, M/M, Teasing, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Logan thinks about home, what it is and what it isn't, and how he's found it with Kurt.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirose/gifts).

Home is mutable. 

Logan has learned this throughout his life. He's learned so many damn things, some of it even useful, but finding what 'home' means to a man who's forever on the move took some goddamn doing. 

He likes having a place to go to ground. Familiar scents, familiar sights, things placed where he likes them. Knowing where the spare towel is, knowing the lock will hold, knowing this place can be returned to many times and he will be welcome. Not just a base or a shelter, home is a place he wants to stay, wants to come back to after a rough go. Home isn't necessarily comfortable, physically speaking, but home is _ safe_. 

Folks have a lot of sayings about home. Most've of 'em are fucking stupid, the kind of greeting card prattle idiots ramble out to convince themselves they understand the world. Home is where the heart is, where you hang your hat, where they can't turn you away. Home is other people, home is a loved one's arms.

It's crap, all of it. What makes a home a home changes all the goddamn time and is different for every person, every time they find that home. Home is a feeling, personal and intangible, and sometimes you don't have one at all, however bad you want one.

A kiss is not home. Lanky arms around his shoulders, thick fingers sliding into his hair, the bright smell of joy and relief and delight -- none of that is home. 

Kurt can kiss him anywhere. Kurt can grab on and drag him in and Kurt can find him and be overwhelmed by the pleasure of knowing he's still clawing through the world, alive and well, anywhere and any time they're geographically convenient to one another, so it's not _ home_, having this.

But it's part of it. 

Anymore, it's a big goddamn part of it. 

It feels good to have Kurt alone. And that feeling, that bone deep feeling, warm and deep and spreading all through him, is something like home. Home isn't another person, really, because people always change -- and people leave and people sour and people die -- and home is always there, just different, so no. No, home is not ever really another person, but this pleasure all built up in him, all tangled in his chest, hot around his heart and budged up tight in his throat because he's got Kurt here, safe and whole and all his, that's part of what makes coming back to this particular place, this particular moment, feel like coming _ home_. 

Kurt's tail slides easy around his leg, clinging just as tight as Kurt's clinging to his shoulder and the back of his neck. When he nips at those thin lips, biting his way into Kurt's mouth, Kurt's grip on him tightens, a little moan building up in Kurt's throat, barely audible even to Logan's keen senses. That's home too, all of that; knowing someone so well you can remember the sound of their pulse, anticipate how it will pick up and slow down depending on how they're touched.

It feels good, and Logan thinks sometimes he could kiss Kurt forever. Feels nice, feels _ right_, and it cuts down on the smart ass commentary, too. Kurt is reactive and sweet, gentle not because he's ever made the mistake of thinking Logan needs a gentle touch but because he likes to be. Lotta folks know Logan only by his fighting reputation, for the carnage he can wreak, the violence in him -- lotta folks assume he defaults to that, wants it in his life all the time. 

A rough fuck can be fun, but it's nice to be slow sometimes. To be allowed to be gentle. 

"Want you on my bed," Logan growls, but he doesn't let go of Kurt and Kurt doesn't make any move to let go of him, either. "Gonna fuck you so good, you're never gonna let me leave that bed again."

There's something so sweet to the sound of Kurt's laughter. Even when he's being a little shit, even when he's mocking Logan, teasing, it's a sound Logan wants to hear all the time. The smell of him, the bright pleasure, the arousal, the warm happiness of being here, pushed against Logan's bedroom door; Logan wants to bury himself in that scent, wants to bottle it and have it wherever he goes, available any time that maudlin homesick feeling crops up.

Home is not another person, but there's something about wanting another person to be a part of your home, part of what makes a place qualify as that -- yeah, there's something to that. 

Kurt laughs and Logan kisses at the soft, slender curve of his neck. He likes feeling the pulse under his teeth, all wrapped up in the comforting understanding that's bleeding through Kurt's response to it, that Logan would never hurt him. There's never been even the barest hint of concern from Kurt that Logan would lose himself, not even when Kurt's pinned under him, letting Logan fuck his way through the rough end of a bloody rage. 

"You have to let me go if you want to move, Süsser," Kurt breathes, setting his head to the side, rolling his skull against the hardness of the wall so Logan can continue his assault on the side of his neck, down to his shoulder. Thank god for these thin, ugly tank tops Kurt's taken to wearing through summer; ain't much in his way at all. "You say you want the bed, but I'm getting the idea you might settle for the wall."

"I ain't gonna throw my back out railing you into the wall again," Logan grumbles, kissing the jut of bone along Kurt's collar. "Always make me do all the work. Spoiled fuckin' brat."

They kiss again, and Logan eats up that warmth all threaded through him, the sweetness of Kurt's mouth, the little signs in his squirming and his scent that says he's just as excited, just as enthusiastic as Logan. 

They break apart and Logan shoves Kurt toward the bed, pulling him from the door and pushing him across the room, baring his teeth in a grin when Kurt's fingers close on his wrist and he's dragged along as Kurt stumbles back. The fact that Kurt couldn't drag Logan if Logan didn't want to be moved is no more worth mentioning than the fact that at any time since they've been alone together, Kurt could have teleported them to the bed, or anywhere else he liked. 

Something about Kurt compliments Logan; Kurt's long lean lines against Logan's stocky, heavy solidity. Kurt looks like someone who should be able to move fast, stealthy, fleet and light and there-and-gone. He looks elegant, splayed on the bed; he looks like what Logan always calls him, beautiful and graceful and ageless, an elf from a storybook, too beautiful to be real.

He's the perfect match; fast and subtle, pretty and kind, set to Logan's plodding, brash rage. They match, and it's nice to be matched, to find those places where they meet up in the middle, made for one another. 

Kurt digs his fingers into Logan's arm, trying to drag him down while Logan's locked his knees against the edge of the bed, a stout pillar Kurt can pull himself up with but could never move. When he makes a whiny noise, getting ready to complain, Logan gets to work on the buttons of his shirt, one handed. "Take your clothes off," he says, and Kurt's eyes roll as Logan steps away from the bed to finish stripping himself. 

He's kicking off his jeans, nudging them in the vague direction of the pile of dirty clothes he's got over by the dresser, when Kurt appears behind him. The sound of him teleporting in close quarters is enough, every time, to make Logan bristle, not to mention the whiff of a scent that comes with it, unnatural, warm. A clap of air closing up the space where Kurt had been on the bed, and then, almost instantly, another poof of air moving as Kurt falls into place behind him, long arms around Logan's chest, the soft fur soothing as Kurt drapes himself against Logan's back. 

"Hurry up," he breathes, sharp teeth nipping at the stubbly edge of Logan's jaw, fingers spread wide to smooth over as much of Logan's chest and stomach as he can reach. "I've been dreaming of you since you left. How long do you plan to keep me waiting?"

"I'm old," Logan says blandly, turning his head to accept the kiss Kurt offers. "You can't rush me."

Another laugh, a quick kiss, and then for a moment Kurt disappears, rummaging in the nightstand across the room, and the reappearing to press the harness into Logan's hand. "I will rush you," Kurt teases, poofing off again to retrieve his preferred dildo from the bathroom, left there last time they'd had time for this, when Logan had had Kurt pinned up against the cold glass of the shower stall, then a second time against the counter, then one more time on the floor, until his elf was so shaken and exhausted he'd demanded Logan carry him to bed. "You get snappy when I rush you. I like you snappy."

Logan laughs at that elbowing the brat out of his space so he can get ready. He's only tightened the last strap secure when Kurt places a hand on his shoulder and, in a gut-dropping rush, 'ports them to the bed, Logan bouncing as he lands, pinned under Kurt. He growls, a low, reflexive noise against the unpleasant shock of the teleport, as Kurt grins and pushes him down into the mattress, impatient and eager as he rocks against Logan's dick, tail lashing behind him. 

It's always good to be wanted, always nice to feel irresistible, and Kurt never fails to bring that to bear, all that good Christian patience and temperance tossed out the window when it's just them alone after they've been apart for days and weeks and harrowing months, unable to check in, unable to know for certain they'd get back to this when they're both out in the shit.

Logan drags a hand up the back of Kurt's thigh, against the grain of his fur just to make him bristle, payback, and then gets a nice palmful of that round, perfect ass. He squeezes, pulls him open, and slides his fingers around just a little further, feeling what he's known by scent since coming back to the cabin and finding Kurt waiting for him on the porch. He's warm and slick, and if Logan wanted he could fuck the impatient brat open with his fingers, get him all desperate and loose and then have him hard and fast after, but Logan sees no point in delaying what he's been dreaming of since it finally started looking clear that he had a shot at coming back to this.

"You gonna take me for a ride, elf?" He asks, rocking up against Kurt, teasing. "You gonna put the work in so an old man can rest?"

There's something, always, about the way Kurt's face goes soft like this, lips a little parted, eyes round, soft and so fond as he looks at Logan, stupid with his own desire and hungry for everything Logan gives him. Home is not another person, it can't be, but Logan wouldn't mind finding home in that look. 

Kurt's fingers dig in hard against Logan's shoulders, the weight of him never enough to be uncomfortable even when he puts all his weight on Logan to keep his balance while bending in half to kiss him as he's teasing them both with the grinding of his hips back against Logan. It's only when Logan squeezes on his ass again, rough and demanding, that Kurt breaks the kiss and gets them lined up, sinking down to take Logan deep. His tail skates over Logan's legs, wild as Kurt moans and scratches at Logan's chest, rolling his hips to find the angle that works best.

Caught up like this, heat and sweat and Kurt’s cock leaking wet all over Logan’s stomach as he chases that perfect sensation; like this, Kurt smells so good Logan wants to bury himself in it, smother himself. The soft, sweet noises working out of Kurt’s throat, the sounds of their bodies working together, make Logan’s hands go tight on Kurt’s hips. He likes the way Kurt opens his mouth and drops back his head, panting his name at the ceiling like he’s the only thing in the world that matters, likes the way all of Kurt’s fingers are digging welts into this skin, scraping over his pecs, down his chest and along his belly, likes the way Kurt’s tail is lashing the air behind him now, too worked up to keep any kind of dignity.

It’s perfect. It’s so good. This is where he belongs, right here, just like this, nothing in the world but him and Kurt, that smell, the softness of Kurt’s fur against his rough palms, the stretch and stain of their bodies in perfect concert. These are the things that tame Logan, these are things that make the wild in him come to heel just for a moment, and for that moment, that perfect moment, home _ is _ this. Not just Kurt, or the sex, or this cabin out in fuckoff, nowhere; home is this raw, howling emotion that comes from all those things gotten together.

Home is the goodness, the completeness, of being alone with Kurt, trusted and wanted, loved and loving. Orgasm rolls through Logan, just a slowly rising crest that builds and builds, and he takes hold of Kurt’s cock, rolling his hips in time with the motion of his hand, dragging them both along now, chasing it. 

The splash of semen across his skin is hot, scalding, almost as beautiful a thing as the high, reedy gasp of Kurt’s breath as he cums. 

Kurt’s breath against his cheek, his steady, rapid heartbeat as he collapses against him; that’s part of this too. Part of what makes it home, what makes this the place, the time, the space he wants, forever, to call home. 

Home changes. 

When you live as long as Logan has, everything, every ‘constant’ takes on a mutable quality. You learn to make do, you learn to take what you can get where it’s possible.

They’ll never have this exact moment again, and home will change a hundred times in a thousand ways, but Logan will hold on to this, hold on to it with both hands and with his teeth for good measure, because what they’d got, what they find together, is something so wholly good Logan doesn’t want to lose it. Not ever.

And he sure as hell won’t let it go willingly. You don’t let home go, just like you don’t let love go, and when you find both in one place, you treasure it, even when you have to leave it. You come back to it, every time, and hold it close as long as you can.


End file.
